From a Son to a Mother
by 55below
Summary: The spirit of his Mother and a ghost from his past come to Mano's aid in a moment of need.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** _This story features only one primary character from the series, Manolo Montoya, a mono Mano, if you will The other two primary characters can be found in chapter five of "The Illumination". There is a hint of a relationship therein, which is the basis for what transpires here._

 _In an episode of the series titled "A Sea of Enemies", Blue is held hostage by a deranged soldier and taken to a place John Cannon refers to as 'The Forbidden Ground"', which is the basis of the geological formation referred to in this story by the name 'The Palisades"._

 _I hope to have all 10 chapters posted within the week. Comments and critiques welcomed_

* * *

"Oh, Manolo Montoya, you have no one to blame for this mess except... Manolo Montoya."

Mano scooted as far back from the edge of the table-sized shelf of ground as he could. One hundred feet below him an arroyo, bone dry virtually all year long , was a churning brown serpent of mud, brush and water. Above him rested forty or fifty feet of sheer walled stone. To his immediate left stood a needle of rock. This single outcropping is what Mano's right foot slammed into as he fell from the top of the promontory only moments before. The impact arrested his fall and bounced him onto the shelf upon which he now laid. Had he not hit the rock he would've been a mere bit of flotsam in the roil below, joining the random carcasses and other debris which the flood was flushing out to the desert floor several miles below.

Mano grimaced as he tried to make himself a little more secure. The shelf tilted toward the bottom of the narrow canyon. To roll off this island was a distinct possibility, he realized. He pulled off his belt and wrapped it around the base of a stubborn little sage brush which had chosen this unlikely spot to make a stand. Winding the lead of his belt through the rearmost loop on his pants, he secured himself to the defiant little survivor. Any movement was hampered by throbbing pain from his right ankle. It felt broken but it was too late to remove his boot to check. It had swollen quickly, his boot feeling two sizes too small already. If his ankle truly was broken the boot would probably be as good a splint a anything else, Mano thought.

The rain was picking up a little . Mano appreciated the bit of an overhang above his head. It deflected the bulk of the rain, but he was still going to get soaked eventually. He had seen the darker clouds moving in before the fall. In fact, they had been gathering for several days. A front was moving through, one of those rare events which occured every other year or so, when the skies opened for several days and rain would just fall and fall. When these storms happened , the ponds and water holes would fill to the brim while the desert would bloom with flowers and plants one could hardly believe actually existed. For one or two glorious weeks after the deluge, the desert would be a canvas of colors and scents. Mano, though, had serious doubts that he would get to witness this rebirth. He leaned his head back and tried to piece together the seemingly innocuous decisions which had led him to this precarious little slanted piece of ground.

Victoria's birthday was two days away and things at the ranch were going well. Mano wanted to go to town and pick up a gift of some sort for her. After clearing things with John, Manolito left the Chaparral, telling everyone not to worry if he didn't return before dark. "A man with my skills and abilities might be needed in Tucson overnight." he laughed as he departed.

He hadn't traveled far when he remembered the general store in Tubac and the beautiful amber rosary featured in the front window. Victoria had been given one very similar to it, only in turquoise, when she received her Confirmation blessing. Mano knew she would appreciate having another, so he turned toward Tubac. It was a longer journey, but the day was young and the cool air of the incoming weather meant Mackadoo would be comfortable at a faster gate.

Man and horse arrived before the store closed and, to Mano's relief, the rosary was still for sale. After paying for the gift he went to the saloon for a few shots while the storekeeper gift wrapped the rosary. Things were slow, even by Tubac standards, so Mano grabbed some tortillas and smoked meat from the cafe'. Returning to the general store, he took the small, pretty package and placed it securely in the inside pouch of his jacket before heading back to the Chaparral. The incoming weather figured into his reasoning as well, a long ride in the rain holding little appeal. If he could make it to the Palisades by dark, he could spend the night in one of the small protected draws there. His return to the ranch the following day would be a relaxed affair.

The Palisades was a massive jumble of rock and steep, deep canyons north of Tubac, southwest of Tucson and southeast of the Chaparral. Four or five miles wide by as much as ten miles in length, it had long been regarded as a "no man's land" by everyone.. There was little there to attract the Apache, being too steep, remote and difficult to navigate. A few prospectors had tried for silver a time or two, but the lack of any viable ore deposits and constant harassment from the Apache drove them away. The outer reaches of the Palisades held numerous short, secluded draws and alcoves which provided convenient hiding places or campsites, depending on one's given circumstance. There were several different names for this place, but 'Palisades' was the one Mano most often heard.

The towering rocks were visible for miles and Mano rode directly toward them until he reached an opening at the base of the rocks. Soon he had his bedroll laid out and a nice small fire going. The coolness of the air felt good and the beef and tortillas tasted better than he would have thought. Mano fell asleep with a contented smile.

After a quick cup of coffee the next morning, the Mexican was well on his way home when he spotted a single cow by itself, grazing.

" Well little one., " Mano crooned to the yearling as he approached, "Where's your mamacita?"

At the sound of the man's voice, the animal took one look in his drection and then bolted towards the rocks. "So, that is how it will be, eh, _pequeno becerro?"_ Mano chuckled as he trotted after the determined bovine.

The yearling appeared to be an orphan, probably a maverick creation. Normally Mano wouldn't concern himself with such an animal, but he was a good sized youngster and leading him back to the herd outside the Chaparral seemed like easy money.

The little guy was spirited, Mano had to admit, as he weaved himself further up and into the Palisades. The cow led the man and horse up a small ravine and climbed quickly on a trail which wandered back and forth along several flat topped ridges. The trail was no challenge for Mano and Mackadoo. They had covered more serious ground before. There came a point , though, that the man felt more comfortable going by foot. He tied the reins on the saddle horn and followed the orphan up a bit further. The little one finally ran into a dead end and turned around to face his pursuer.

Mano sized up the situation once he came upon the trapped yearling. If this was a maverick, as Mano assumed, he would've spent a full year out in the harsh land learning how to survive. His fight or flight instincts would be finely tuned, and, seeing there was no avenue for 'flight', the animal might charge Mano with violent intent. All ranch hands were aware of this possibility. For every fifty or so mavericks a cowhand found, there would always be one or two who went rogue. These animals developed a taste for the independent existence. They would be fully aware of the usefulness of their horns and the chance of a man or his horse being charged by one of these beasts was a very real danger. The meanest of them were always given a wide berth with a few earning well-deserved nicknames. Big John had always let the Apache know that these rogues were their's for the taking. Unfortunately for the Chaparral, the Indians preferred an animal they could gently drive to their camp.

The rain was beginning to fall and Mano wondered if this yearling was worth the trouble. Looking up, Mano thought he could climb around and behind the trapped cow and drive him out with a few well placed rocks. He had come this far, a little more time and he'd have the yearling heading the right direction. When that happened, Mano planned to run the yearling's tail off, all the way bck to the High Chaparral.

As Mano climbed around the yearling, he found himself gaining elevation quickly. Twice he had to walk around spires which were in his way, climbing higher with each detour. Above him, in the higher reaches of the Palisades, the rain was already coming down in buckets and Mano knew he needed to get off the steep rocks pronto. At length, he looked over a rock face and saw the wayward bovine seventy feet below, still standing in its rock stall. One well placed stone on the animal's butt got it moving back down the trail with urgency.

Pleased to have finally gotten the animal moving, Mano began the steep return to his horse. A roar off to his left caught his attention. Coming from a deep cleft slightly above him ,Mano knew what it was. A gullywasher was churning down the narrow canyon. He had to take a look.

The violence and intensity of these flash floods needs to be seen to be believed and Mano wanted to see it. One quick peek, he said, and he'd be on his way. The rain was beginning to come down heavier as Mano leaned over the edge to look. He had to move down the face of the ridge to get a better perspective, but after a few steps he felt uncomfortable. The rock face was steep and the leather soles of his boots weren't grabbing the rain slickened surface . He slipped briefly and turned to scurry back up to the top of the ridge. He leaned forward onto his hands when both feet flew out from under him. His gloves would have normally been sufficient to retard his slide but they were as wet and slick as his boots. Unable to halt the downward momentum, Mano slid backward , ever closer to the point of no return. Suddenly, Mano felt weightless.

He was falling.


	2. Chapter 2

Mano shivered and raised the collar of his shirt tightly around his neck. It was a cold rain and his now soaked clothes offered little in the way of protection. He leaned to his right and scooped out a depresion beneath his rump. Turning to his left , repeated the act. He lowered his rear end back down and wiggled until his posterior held firmly in the recess. In doing so, the possibility of sliding off this small island of hope lessened. In the distance he heard the long rumble of thunder. Immediately he thought of Mackadoo.

That horse was an extension of himself, stable as a rock, not at all gunshy. Mano had fired from the saddle hundreds of times. With lightening, however, Mackadoo could be a little skittish. If that thunder got any closer, and there was no reason to believe it wouldn't, the horse would bolt and run home. Mano was glad that he had taken the time to tie the reins to the pommel. If Mackadoo were to take off, at least he wouldn't get injured stepping on the leads.

The possibilities of the animal's return to the ranch without a rider got Manolo Montoya to thinking. If the horse left now, he would get to the ranch right around darkness. The message to the men would be clear. Somewhere, between the Chaparral and Tucson, their friend and brother would be afoot, possibly injured. It chagrined Mano to think of the men heading out in the darkness and weather to look for someone who wasn't there. The heavy rains would wash away Mackadoo's hoofprints almost as soon as they were made. The men would have absolutely no reason to head for Tubac. Not for at least a few days, reasoned Mano. He had first seen the rosary while in Buck's presence and had mentioned aloud how much he liked it. Perhaps Buck might remember and draw the only conclusion which might save him. Even then, the trail carried at least a mile away from the Palisades and Mano was on the backside of the rocks which faced the trail.

Mano reached back and counted the bullets on his belt. Twelve. Counting the six he had in his pistol, that left less than two days' supply of rounds were he to fire a shot for help once every hour. As it was, it would be at least a day before anyone might be close enough to hear. Maybe two days. Maybe three. For now, though, that didn't matter. It was one hour at a time, not one day at a time. He had a few pieces of jerkey in his shirt pocket and could fill his hat with rain water should he get thirsty. He could survive at least a week ,if it came down to it, and if the painful ankle didn't hold any unknown threat.

Mano sighed deeply and watched the rain fall.

His shaking body awoke him with a jolt. A memory from his early adolescence came flooding to the forefront of his thoughts. He had been out with old Ruiz, his father's lead hand, rounding up steers. After going out on his own to get a few stragglers in a side canyon, Mano was thrown from his horse. It was cold and raining, just like today , and Mano began to shiver as he walked back to the ranch. He curled up under a rock overhang and fell asleep while waiting for the rain to end. It was then that Ruiz had grabbed him and shook him awake. Ruiz demanded that Mano recite a Hail Mary. When Manolito stumbled over the words, " _thy womb, Jesus",_ Ruiz slapped him, hard, and demanded that he try again .For the second time, Mano bumbled the words, and, for the second time, got slapped. The third and fourth times the prayer was recited, the young man got every word right. It was only then that he could see the concern, the fear, in Ruiz's moist eyes.

"You can die from exposure here as quickly as from the heat, Manolito." he admonished, shaking the boy, " You mumble, you fumble and then you stumble. You land at death's threshold. You must never go to sleep when you are in this condition or you might never wake up. Do you understand me, Monolito? Do you understand?"

Mano was breathing heavily as though the event had just occurred. With his body shaking from the cold, Mano began reciting the Hail Mary aloud. When he reached the words " _thy womb, Jesus_ " an unintelligible jumble of sounds fell from his lips. Again he tried. Again he failed. On the third attempt, all the words came out correctly. Raising the volume of his voice, Mano recited the prayer for the fourth time. The shivering lessened,

Mano reached into his jacket and grabbed the gaily wrapped gift he had gotten for his sister. He pulled the rosary from the paper and clutched it in his hands. He removed the glove from his right hand and gently held the Crucifix. Deliberately, he made the Sign of the Cross.

"I believe in God, the Father Almighty," he spoke to the sky, " Creator of Heaven and earth..."

It took an hour for Mano to complete the rosary, but when he finished, the shivering had stopped, and his focus returned. He felt a lift of sorts, an optimism which had been lost since the fall. One rosary every three hours, he vowed. It might be too late to save his soul, but perhaps this tool could help him save his life. The thought made Mano laugh.

Saying the rosary was one of the very few Catholic traditions Mano ever enjoyed. The reason was simple. It was something his mother did with him, and him alone, twice each week. Sometimes she would change the words of the prayers to see if he was paying attention. It would make him giggle and always brought a smile to _Dona_ Maria's lips. It was their private time, a moment reserved only for the two of them. The boy loved hearing his voice speaking in rythym with that of his mother as they recited the prayers together. He was always antsy at first, but the harmony of the two voices and the cadence of the prayers would calm him. He liked that feeling. In holding this amber rosary , Mano could feel the warmth of that memory. Perhaps, he mused, _Dona_ Maria will pray with him again in this time of need.

One rosary later he scanned the afternoon sky which was beginning to surrender to the darkness of night. Even though the rain had abated for the moment, Mano knew a long hard struggle lay ahead. He could already feel the drop in temperature and cinched his collar a bit tighter.

. Some movement caught his eye, and made him jump. A skinny snake was climbing down the rock face from the overhang. He struggled to pull his pistol before he realized it wouldn't be needed. His gaze froze as he looked at the "snake".

It wasn't a snake, at all.

It was a rope.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mano reached out for the rope, not entirely sure it was real, even once he held it in his grasp. He pulled enough line down to secure himself and could feel resistence. There was someone, _someone,_ on the other end.

Mano looped a large noose with the rope and threw it over his shoulders, bringing it snugly under his armpits. He gave the line a tug and instantly it drew taut. After reclaiming his belt, Mano pulled himself up until he could balance on his one good leg. Giving the line another tug , he tried his best to claw his way up the sheer wall as the force from above slowly pulled him upward. Whenever Mano could get a firm grip or a decent toe hold, he'd tug the line in order that both ends of the rope could rest. It was demanding work. With another tug, the next five to ten feet of progress would begin.

At times the edge seemed further away than when he started. Mano stopped looking for the top, instead focusing his efforts on the next step, and then the next. Finally, he was able to pull himself up with no help from the rope. Body flat against the sloping upper reaches of the arroyo, Mano was able to crawl to safety. Once he reached level ground he rolled over on his back and tried to collect his breath. The exertion and the throbbing pain of his ankle left him feeling nauseous.

A man leaned over and removed the lifeline from Mano's torso. Mano slowly stood, unable to place any weight on his gimpy leg. He looked at his benefactor and instantly recognized the man who had saved his life.

" So, what has it been, amigo. Twenty years?"

The red haired Indian Mano addressed, simply gazed at him.

" Manolito Montoya," he said, "Why is it that I always find you in the water?" His voice had a certain quality, a distinctive accent.

Mano shook his head and let out a laconic laugh. "I do not know. This time, I must say, I am very happy to see you. The other time, maybe not so much..." Mano laughed again but as he did, he stumbled forward and fell to his hands, A screaming bolt of pain shot through his right leg.

The man he had known only as "Cimmaron" helped him to his feet.

Mano regained his balance, as a wave of nausea overcame him. He felt like he might vomit. He was feeling light headed as his body could no longer fight both the injury and his lowered body temperature. Mano had expended all of his limited energy on the climb up from the little shelf. He started to speak, to thank Cimmaron, but noticed that his words were slurred. The red headed Kiliwa noticed as well. He turned and took several steps to a small burro Mano hadn't noticed at first. On the wooden pack the animal bore, was a deerskin bag .The Indian took the bag as he pulled a wooden plug from the top of it. He gestured for Mano to drink. He held the Mexican's body steady as Mano took a swallow.

Mano spit it out. It was possibly the worst, most pungent concoction he had ever tasted. "No " insisted Cimmaron. "Drink it. Drink it all."

Mano gave a somewhat defiant look and then held the bag to his lips. He chugged the bag dry, his face as sour as the contents of the container. His vision began to blur as Cimmaron placed the looped rope and the empty bag onto the burro's pack. He removed Mano's holster and placed it there also. He looked back at Mano and laughed. "Is it working, yet, Manolo Montoya?"

Mano thought about it. The foul taste was still present in his mouth but already the throbbing in his leg was lessening. The nausea was going away and suddenly, almost impossibly, he felt...happy. He giggled.

'Time to leave this place, Monolo Montoya" spoke the Kiliwa. In one swift movement he lifted Mano over his shoulder as he grabbed the lead on the burro's neck. Effortlessly, he began walking up a hogback heading to the heart of the Palisades.

Mano stared down at the rocky path as they proceeded. One step, and then another step, and then another step. .. the simple process mesmerized the slumped Mexican. He began to have odd visions. He saw his mother, seated atop an elephant, calling for him to say a rosary. He saw Buck Cannon, alongside of him at the bar in Tucson, with horns sticking out of his head, a large silver ring in his nose. He saw Sam and Joe Butler. wearing tutus while an audience of hundreds applauded them as they danced. One after another, the vivid scenes whirled in his head until he fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Manolo Montoya slowly opened his eyes and stared at the rock ceiling above him. He didn't move as he tried to establish his coordinates. He had no idea where he was nor how he had gotten there. He was in a cave, clearly, but there was no mustiness in the air, no hint of mildew, just a comfortable earthiness. He could detect the scent of others, not one of body odors like the bunk house, but one more like his sister's clean house where the aromas of good food and flowers greeted one's nose.

He was on a bed, more accurately, a cot, and his hands reached to feel that it was made from smooth , round branches rather than sawn lumber. A large blanket covered him and he sensed he was naked. He lifted the cover and one quick glance confirmed his thoughts. As his eyes wandered a bit further down he could see his right ankle was wrapped with large leaves, bundled with thin strips of sinew. He could feel a numbed, dull throb from his lower leg and laid his head back down on the bed.

It was coming back to him. He had fallen and hit hard on a big rock. He ws trapped on a small shelf with a _rosary?_ and there was a snake...no, a rope... yes, a rope . Mano could feel the cold wet stone against his face as he was pulled back to the top. There was a burro, there was a man... _Cimmaron!..._

Mano bolted up in the bed, his heart beating furiously. His breathing was deep and rapid. He sat motionless until he could regain his senses, until his pulse slowed.

He looked out at the entrance of the cave and the gray wet sky beyond it. As his eyes acclimated to the darkness of the cave he saw a woman sitting on a rocking chair halfway between himself and the opening, maybe ten, twelve feet away. Her head was bent down , following the path of her finger as it followed the printed words on a page of the large book she was reading. Mano stared at her in silence.

Her long silver hair covered much of her face but he could tell she was Native. She was tall for a woman, very lean and wore a flowered dress with a burgundy blouse. He watched as she gently placed a bookmark and closed the volume. Placing the book on a sidestand , she looked out to the rainy skies beyond the cave's entrance.

"You have been gone many hours, Manoya." she said.

Mano was slightly startled by her words.

She rose and walked to his bed. He couldn't help but notice the smoothness of her movement. She was graceful in a natural, unschooled way.

"I need to check the...the swell ,in your leg. The poltice has done all it can to take away the swell."

Her words told Mano two things. The first was that English was not her native tongue. Her speech had a haltering quality he frequently heard amongst the Mexicans and Indians who never had the benefit of his education. The second thing which was clear to him, was that the person who taught her to speak English was an Irishman. Her voice had that certain lilt, not nearly strong enough to be considered a brogue, yet readily definable. The distinctly peculiar cadence seemed familiar to Mano. She sounded like...like... _Cimmaron. Yes. Cimmaron!_

The events of the prior day now came into focus. He _had_ fallen. He _had_ slammed into a rock and landed on a small ledge. He _had_ been rescued by _Cimmaron,_ the man with whom he had only spoken to one time, over twenty years ago, the man who once vowed to kill Buck Cannon.

Mano looked at the woman. "Cimmaron?" he asked.

"He will be back soon" she replied.

" You are Kiliwa?"

"Yes, I am the mother of Cimmaron. I am Neetz-ko- geegho, ' The One who Wanders'. To my husband, I was Neetzie." She reached down to pull back the covers in order to examine Mano's ankle when he quickly sat up.

"Ay yi," he chirped. "My clothes..."

Neetz pointed to the wall nearest the cave opening where Mano saw his clothes suspended. "Your clothes were wet and you were shivering. " she started.

'"Who...who took them off ?"

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, " she grinned sweetly as she rose and headed toward the back of the cave . "and you have nothing to brag about, either."

Her comment had a certain maternal quality to it, similar to the tone a boy hears when he believes he is too old to be seen naked by his mother, clearly forgetting the countless times she had seen it all before.

Mano blushed slightly at the thought of Neetz removing his clothes but her manner placed him at ease. He chuckled until she returned holding a large, green, gingham dress.

"This should do." she said. "It is too large for me."

" Ah, no, no." Mano politely objected. "My own clothes, please."

"I need to set the broken bone in your leg, Manoya. You were with luck, the leg bone broke, not the ankle bone. The ankle bone would never heal right. When I set the leg bone it will heal as though it was never broken. I cannot do so if you wear legs. If you prefer, you can walk around here as God made you."

Mano gazed at the green dress and grimaced. He nodded for Neetz to turn her back and as she did, he carefully lowered his legs to the floor and pulled the dress over head. He fought the garment as he weaved his arms through their proper openings. Mano raised himself from the cot and, standing on his one good leg, smoothed out the skirt. He tried unsuccessfully to button the back of the dress, an exercise he had never attempted from this perspective.

"Senora Neetz?" he asked pointing over his shoulder.

Neetz walked behind Mano to button the dress. She had only fastened the lowest button when she stopped. Mano stood silently as her fingers began to trace the ends of the long, serpentine scars which ran across his chest and wrapped around his back, a reminder of a day in his life he tried to forget.

"Apache" she said.

" _Si._ It was a ritual...", Mano's voice was little more than a whisper.

"I know what these scars mean. I have seen them before during my time with those ... those... That you live to wear these scars tell me you are a man of much courage."

" Ah, " that is me " said Mano with a lightened tone in his voice. "A brave man in a green gingham dress."

Neetz laughed, a sweet laugh which reminded him a bit of his sister, a bit of his mother.

Once finished with the buttons, she walked around Mano and caught him fluffing the skirt, a large smile on his face. "My sister Victoria would be so jealous to see how well I fill a dress." Mano laughed as Neetz took his arm and lowered him back to the cot.

She had the man sit upright as she pulled back the hem of the dress to examine his ankle. She untied the sinew bands and removed the agave leaves. Underneath the leaves was a black salve which coated the lower reaches of Mano's leg and his foot. It smelled terrible. Gently, the woman began to wipe the substance from Mano's extremity. As she focused on the leg, Mano focused on the woman.

With her long hair pulled back he could now clearly see her entire face. It was smooth, with a minimum of wrinkles, most of them at the edges of her eyes. A long healed scar ran from just below her left ear to just below her chin. At a point in time someone had tried to cut her throat. Slightly above the collar of her blouse he saw several rings of scar tissue. The scars made him shudder, The only thing which could leave those scars was a steel collar. He had seen similar scars on a man once, a black man, a former slave. He thought of the stories he had heard, of how she was brutalized by the Apache women and it all came into a clear, painful focus.

Her cheek bones were not as high as those of the Apache women and her jaw not as pointed. As a man who had spent a lifetime studying the subject, Mano had no doubt that she was a beauty in her youth. She still bore her looks well, but the word 'serene' seemed to fit her face better, he thought.

"Cimmaron?" he asked.

'He has gone to let your people know that you are alive. It will be some time before you are able to leave here."

" Oh, no" he sighed. "This is not a good plan. He will be shot before he ever gets near the house."

Neetz smiled quietly. "They will never see him. When they awake , they will find your hat on the porch. There will be a paper in it saying that you are alive and you will be home soon."

"How long will I be in this place?"

Neetz smiled again. "Until you are ready. The leg must heal enough to allow you to leave. It is a very , how do you say , diffcult, way to leave."

" A difficult journey from this place?" asked Mano.

"Aye, thank you. The swell is good now, Manoya. When Cimmaron returns we will set the bone and splint it. Then you will heal. Then you will leave."

She rose and walked to the opening of the cave. Mano rose and hopped lightly behind her, wanting to see the sky, wanting to get some fresh air.

The rain was still falling, not a downpour, but a steady, soaking drizzle. Fifty feet below where the two stood, reached a small valley about a half of a mile long. It was several hundred yards wide and rimmed with steep tall rocks. The far end was filling with water from the steady rain while the upper end sat high enough to avoid being covered. Everywhere Mano looked, plants were growing. A small apricot tree was nestled against one of the rock walls He could see a number of grape vines against another wall . There were squash visible to his eye as well as tomato plants and green peppers. He stared out at the bounty at his feet, mouth agape.

" _Ay yi yi what is this pla...?"_ he began, before catching himself. "Pardon me, I have no right to ask this question."

He gazed to his right and recognized the top ridges which formed the upper profile of the Palisades. Clearly, they were somewhere within its center, a place he had never once heard anyone speak of. Everyone knew this higher country was just an elaborate rock garden, yet here lay this beautiful little valley. It appeared to Mano that the valley ran counter to the lines of ridges and peaks of the Palisades . That explained the water. Much of the rain water from up above would have no choice but to drain into this verdant bowl. Over time, he could see, the sand would become soil which could never wash or blow away. Soil plus water plus sun equals plants. Plants equals food.

The small burro he remembered from the previous day was feeding on the grasses at the edge of the water. It all looked so very peaceful. It seemed inconceivable that such a place could exist in this otherwise sparse land.

"Who else knows of this place?" he asked the woman.

"Only one I know and he has passed." She looked Mano directly in the eyes. "You are the only one Cimmaron has ever brought here. He always helps those he finds alone in the desert, but he helps them where he finds them. They can be angels or devils, it doesn't matter. He will help them as long as they are not Apache. I have forgiven them, but Cimmaron... never. It is the Fitzgerald in him."

"Fitzgerald?"

"Fitzgerald, my husband, Cimmaron's father. He was a man of much pride, he could never forget an insult. Cimmaron is his father's son."

"Come," she said. "Come in from the rain before your clothes are wet again. We shall prepare to eat, Cimmaron will be back soon."

.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four.

Neetz seated Mano at the table which sat across from the cot where he had slept. It was a nice piece of furniture, with three matching chairs. As his eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings he noticed many things which he had missed at first glance. It was more a cavern than a cave, with the ceiling at least ten feet high. It extended a full forty feet from the entrance to the rear wall. Much of the space appeared to be natural, but there was clear evidence that the hands of men had enlarged the original offering. The back of the cave was divided by a hand laid stone wall, with beds on both sides. The blankets were not the woven fabrics of the Indians, rather, factory produced items one might find at Casa Montoya. One side held a mahogany dresser, with a walnut dresser on the other side. There were linen trunks at the foot of each bed and small rugs in each chamber. Paintings and dried flowers adorned the walls. To Mano's immediate left stood a china hutch with plates, saucers, bowls and cups. They didn't all match, but the different colors appealed to his eye. The hard rock floor was swept clean.

"You have a beautiful home, Senora Fitzgerald. The furnishings, the fabrics, it is all so lovely."

Neetz stopped kneading the dough in her hands and smiled. "Senora Fitzgerald," she repeated. 'You are a gentleman, Manoya. I have not heard that in many years. I thank you." She returned to the task at hand as she continued to speak. "Cimmaron finds these things in the desert, the chairs, the tables. Sometimes they are left for a reason. Usually they are left because the Apache have no need for them once they have taken what they want."

She pointed to the various pieces of furniture. "When Cimmaron freed Lark and me, he vowed to have these nice things for us."

"Lark. Your son?"

"Aye. The one blessing of me time with those animals. He was like a little bird from the very beginning. He brought such joy and never asked for anything." She paused from her task of flattening the dough and gazed out to the dimming light.

' I am so sorry for your loss, Senora Fitzgerald. I know Cimmaron held my brother-in-law responsible for..."

"He knows he was wrong, now. It was just the Fitzgerald in him, again. Cimmaron will never tell me what happened that night at the Chaparral, but he came home without his knife. For him to give it to another man told me all I needed to know."

As she spoke, a large shadow appeared in the opening. Cimmaron gave Neetz a kiss on the cheek as he headed into the cave. "You'll not be dripping water all over me clean floors, Cimmaron," she barked. 'Take off the poncho here in the entrance."

"Aye, Mum." responded the man.

Mano smiled, as the voice of his own mother echoed in his mind.

Cimmaron shed the wet poncho and stepped into the cave, facing Mano. He was no longer the baby faced man- child Mano once knew. He stood several inches taller than the Mexican, twenty pounds heavier. The years of surviving in desert was reflected in his face. The dark red hair was braided on both sides, the face clean shaven, the teeth white. He was more impressive than Mano had noticed the previous day.

"Joachim Fitzgerald," said Cimmaron, holding out his hand.

Mano took his hand and shook. He gave Cimmaron and Neetz a quizzical look which made them both chuckle.

"Fitzgerald would say that Joachim's hair was the color of cinnmenun, cimmennen..."

"Cinnamon, Mama."

"Aye. Well, I couldn't say it then either. It came out "cimmaron" and Fitzgerald liked that better, so, that became his name."

As Cimmaron walked back to his bedroom to change out of his wet moccasins, Neetz continued her story.

"When I was with the Apache, I would whisper his name to the squaws whenever I was alone with one of them, They would hiss that my boy was dead, but I knew they weren't sure. The mention of his name spooked them."

" If I may ask," Mano said, "How did you know he was alive?"

Neetz paused. "A mother knows. By the time Cimmaron was six he could snare rabbits as well as anyone. When he was seven, he killed a deer by himself. I knew he could survive. He was Kiliwa and Fitzgerald."

Cimmaron returned to the dining area and stared at Mano's attire. For the first time since the man had entered the cave, Mano remembered he was wearing a dress. He didn't know what to say.

"So, Monolo Montoya, how is your mother's elephant?"

Both of the Kiliwas laughed lightly.

Mano gave them a confused look although there was something oddly familiar about the question.

"You speak when you dream, Manoya"

"Montoya, Mum, Mon-toy-ya"

" You kept asking your mother about her elephant!" Neetz was now laughing out loud but there was not a trace of malice in her tone.

 _"Aye Dios mio...Caramba"_ exclaimed Mano with a laugh. " Such a habit could cause many, many problems for me."

Neetz started speaking to Cimmaron in a tongue Mano had never heard. The two looked at him as they spoke, with Cimmaron nodding his head several times.

"Mama says you must go to sleep again so we can set and brace your broken bone. You will need to drink her medicine once more."

Mano grimaced as Neetz spoke to her son. He walked to the hutch and withdrew three plates and cups and set them on the table. Returning to the hutch , he opened a drawer and removed three sets of silverware, placing them on the table alongside the plates. He started to seat himself when Neetz said something to him in Kiliwa. Cimmaron rolled his eyes, then arose and returned to the hutch. Opening a different drawer, he removed cloth napkins which he placed alongside the three plates before sitting back down.

Neetz turned from the firepit and placed a sizzling skillet of meat and vegetables on a pad in the center of the table. She then retrieved a cloth towel which held the hot flat bread she had just made. As she seated herself, she asked Mano to say grace. Without hesitation, he bowed his head and began, " Bless us, Dear Father, for these thy gifts, which we are about to recieve, from thy bounty , through Christ, Our Lord. Amen "

Neetz repeated the "Amen".

Cimmaron did not.

Mano was ravenous, The smoked meat with the tortillas from the cafe' was the only thing he had eaten in the last two days. Neetz's offering, venison, with onions, peppers and fresh tomatos, was as delicious as any meal he could remember. The flatbread, a thicker, more doughy tortilla, was a treat. He sat back and patted his stomach as he complimented Neetz on the meal. As she began to clear the table, he and Cimmaron looked at each other. It was still a little uncomfortable to be sitting in this man's presence. There was, in fact, very little Mano really, truly, knew about Cimmaron. The man was an enigma to everyone. A cold blooded killer to some. A mystic warrior to others. An angel of mercy to others. He was all of these things, Mano thought, yet, perhaps, he was none of these things.

"We could have been amigos" Mano quietly said.

Cimmaron thought about the words.

"No. I'm afraid that could ne'er have been. I had to find me mother and to seek payment from me father's killers. To have become a part of your world would have not allowed that. Once the Apache knew of such a thing they would have attacked you, or your people, until they found me. No. it could ne'er be so."

"Forgive me for asking but.. why have you brought me here? Senora Fitzgerald has told me that I am the only one to have been brought to this place. Why is that?" Mano asked, the sincerity clearly written on his face.

The responding look was measured, the response deliberate."Many times I have felt the warmth and comfort of the Casa Montoya. In times of loneliness, I could go there and feel whole. I wanted you to know that feeling from us to you."

Manolito's head tiltled back as he tried to balance Cimmaron's words with his own narrative. He had never seen Cimmaron at the Casa. He had never been invited in. It was well guarded, a boy could never enter his home... Could it be possible that Cimmaron, the boy, could outwit Don Sebastian and all of the sentries?... Was there another boy, a ghost boy, in his home when he was growing up?... The thought of such a thing being even remotely possible was unsettling to Mano.

Cimmaron rose and retrieved the tea from the edge of the firepit and filled Mano's cup.

" _Gracias_ " he said quietly, still considering Cimmaron's words.

" _Di nada_ "

The Kiliwa sat and rested his forearms on the table. Leaning forward he looked at Mano intently. He had the air of a man who wanted to get something off his chest.

"The day after the Apache attacked, they came back to try and find me. Pop had told me to run when it began and I did. I ran in the darkness as fast and as far as I could. I did what the Kiliwa had taught me, to not run in the sand and leave tracks, but it took me time to go from rock to rock. When the sun came back up, I still wasn't very far from the wagon. I got to some big rocks by the time they returned. I was so scared . I knew they would find me, but there was a man in the rocks where I was hiding, an old, old Apache man. He saw me and held out his hand. He didn't say anything, just held out his hand.

I didn't know what to do. I thought I was caught, but when I took his hand, he began trotting through a trail in the rocks, away from the men. We moved all day and into the night. He ne'er said a word. He brought me to this place.

I lived with the old man for two years, until he died. We learned to speak to each other. He lived as an Apache with his son. When the son died, and there was no one to care for him, they left him in the desert to die. All he had was his knife. And then, me."

Cimmaron rose and walked to the hutch and grabbed something wrapped in cloth from the top shelf. He placed it in front of Mano and gestured for him to unwrap it. It was a knife, a knife very similar to the one Cimmaron had given Buck.

" He knew of this place from his youth and knew it was too remote and too small for the Apache to bother with. We lived here. He taught me many skills I didn't have; how to find water, which plants I could use to survive, what the sky could tell me. We would go out to the desert and take things we needed, bows and arrows from sleeping Apaches, knives from dead bodies, tools from deserted wagons."

 _"Pistoles?"_ Mano asked.

"No. The old man did not like guns. They were like the jackass. They were loud, they smelled and they always needed to be fed. He said all a man needs to survive is an arrow, a stone and a knife. He was right."

"A stone? ' Mano inquired, eyebrow raised.

Cimmaron rose and untied his belt, a long thin strip of leather, and held the ends in his hand. From his pocket he removed a stone roughly the size of a cherry. He placed it in the elbow of the sling and spun it rapidly overhead. When he released one side of the sling , the stone shot out the entrance of the cave. Mano whistled, appreciatively.

"When I told the old man of my plan to rescue Mama , he said such a simple idea would fail, that they were the plans of a boy. He said I would need to kill all the fathers, all the sons, all the grandsons. Only then , he said, would the Apache know to leave us alone. The Old Apache knew Cochise when they were boys and he told me Cochise would respect my actions. He made me promise that I would wait until my skills were honed before I acted. He told me I would know when the time was right. I promised him.

A day before he died, he told me about the Rancho Montoya, of how to find it, of the canyon country near there where I could live. We both knew no one would be able to catch me in those rocks. He said that I would always be able to get food there if I was smart, like the coyote. Never take more than I need . Never take unless I had need. Never be seen . "

Cimmaron leaned back in his seat and gazed down at the table's edge. "He told me he was about to die. I thanked him for saving me life, and he just smiled. He said when I got older I would learn that it was I who had saved a life. I buried me teacher the next day and packed a bag with the few things I needed, and went to the Rancho Montoya as he had said to do."

"You were only ten years old and you went from here to Rancho Montoya by yourself ? _On foot?_ " Mano asked. It seemed impossible.

'Aye. It wasn't hard. I was well prepared and I traveled under the moon often . Once I found the rocks I began to follow the men of the rancho whenever I saw them. In time they led me to the Casa. It was everything I was told but I found something there the old man never mentioned.

I found a family."

.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Neetz hummed quietly to herself as she cleaned and returned the dishes to the hutch. As the men spoke, she set a pot near at the fire's edge and began mixing her "medicine", her eyes as accurate as any measuring cup. Occasionally she would look up at the two men, hoping that they were finding a common ground. Cimmaron had a reason for bringing the Mexican to the cave, she knew. The sanctity and security of their home was his singular mandate. Everything else paled in comparison.

"When...when were you in Casa Montoya?" Mano asked. "How, ... how is it you say you know my family?"

Cimmaron sat back in his chair, continuing to look into Mano's eyes.

"At first, once I found the Casa, I understood what the Old Apache meant. There was much there if one could get past the guards Your sentries looked for other men, for horses. They didn't watch for small shadows in the night. I remember the first time I entered the Casa. I just wanted to take some eggs, but I found myself wandering through the house. It was a magical place. I almost got caught by the one they call "Pepe". He has the ears of a rabbit, that one. I didn't go into the house much after that.

I would sometimes watch through the windows as the family ate. Your mother, your beautiful sister, your father and you. I would see him yell at you and it would remind me of Pop. Me father had a temper as bright as his hair, And a hand just as hot!"

Mano laughed with the Kiliwa , but felt a twinge of sadness, with the idea of a ten or twelve year old orphan hiding in the cactus above his home, watching his family dine together. There wasn't an ounce of self pity in Cimmaron, however.

" I would go there every Christmas, when your family had the big party with all the other young people. Once the lookouts got drunk, I could go down to the house and watch through the windows. All those girls in their beautiful dresses waiting their turn to dance. There was always a line of boys by your sister but there was one lass, a rather hefty one..."

" Isabella!" Mano gushed, with a loud laugh. "Isabella Hernandez. Aye yi yi . _Nina grande, si!"_

" Had a face like a blind cobbler's thumb, poor lass. No one would ask her for a dance except... Manolo Montoya. You made her feel like a princess. I was watching you trying to keep from getting stepped on when I felt a strong pair of hands on me shoulders."

'Who?!" Mano asked, as he sat upright. " _Who_ caught you?!"

"The one who talks to the horses. Ruiz."

" _Ruiz? No!"_ responded the astonished Mexican. " He has _never_ spoken of this! What happened? What did he do once he caught you?"

"Nary a thing. He just held me tight and we watched the party. Ruiz had very strong hands, I couldn't move. He whispered to me to remain calm. After a while, he took me to the barn and talked to me. He said people were aware that things had started to come up missing, and that Rabbit Ears wanted to set a bear trap in the pantry. He threatened to turn me over to the Patron, to have me sent to the orphanage. But...he...he couldn't ."

" _Why not_?" wondered Mano aloud. "This makes no sense. He is Papa's most trusted _confidante."_

"What do you know of Ruiz, Manolo Montoya?"

"Everything!" thought Mano. He had known Ruiz his entire life. Ruiz had always been there. But where he came from...? Mano was drawing a blank, he had no answer. Cimmaron could tell.

"He was an orphan. Both his parents had been murdered by Indians, just like me Pop. Yaqui. He was sent to an orphanage until he ran away. It was your grandfather, Montoya, who gave him a place to grow up."

" I...I never knew of this...any of this."

"It was many years ago, Montoya. He would have no reason to mention it. When I told him that I lived to one day kill the animals who butchered me father, he said he understood, and would let me go. Ruiz ordered me to stop stealing from the Rancho. He told me if I ever got caught again, he would not be able to help .

Ruiz told me to remain there in the barn, and he left. When he returned, he had a plate of ham, with yams and cake. I had never eaten ham before. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. He had a bag of cookies and candies for me to take. After that, I would sometimes find boxes of treats, or a small ham under a large saguaro near the edge of the big rocks. I knew it was Ruiz. I would leave him birds in return, birds that I carved from the alders and the junipers."

"I have seen them," Mano smiled." Ruiz kept them on a shelf above his bench in the barn. I always thought he carved them...I guess there are many things about Ruiz I don't know."

There was a respectful pause.

" To hear your words, Cimmaron, is to hear Ruiz's voice. I do not doubt you."

The two men sat in silence until Cimmaron rose and went to see how Neetz was doing with her potion. Cimmaron took a sniff and made a foul face toward Mano.

" Almost done." Cimmaron smiled as he turned and looked out to the night. " The rain has stopped Montoya. Would you like to get some fresh air?"

Mano welcomed the thought. With Cimmaron's assistance, he hiked up his skirt and hobbled out into the cool darkness, careful to avoid placing any pressure on his broken leg.. He hadn't realized how warm the cave had been until the bracing coolness of the night air covered him. It would be a comfortable place to be during the colder winter nights, he thought. The two men stared out to the night, occassionally catching glimpses of stars through the thinning clouds.

" I must ask you a question, Cimmaron. With all due respect, you told Ruiz that you wouldn't take from the Rancho Montoya, but the reason I was in the rocks that day was to help catch you. Papa knew you were stealing some of his cattle."

Mano could see Cimmaron stiffen up. To be standing on the precipice of a fifty foot drop, while balancing on one leg, was probably not the best place to accuse a man of rustling, Mano realized. Rather foolish, actually.

Cimmaron's reply was curt and clear. " I never stole a single vaca from your father. How much meat do you think a fourteen year old eats, Montoya? There were rabbits, there were deer, there were turkeys and quail. Your ponds were full of big, fat catfish and bass. I did not want for meat."

" Then why did you torture those men, _hombre_?. If you didn't steal the cattle, _por que_?"

Cimmaron spit on the ground and shook his head. "Let me ask _you_ something. The day your father decided to send men after me, did these men volunteer? Did they offer to go, or were they ordered to go?"

"They volunteered, of course. They were some of his best vaqueros."

"They were some of his best thieves. They didn't ride into those rocks to catch me. They came to kill me. For four years I watched them push small numbers of cattle into a little hidden canyon in the rocks. Every few months that mutt they call El Lobo would come and buy the vacas, always at night. It was a good thing for them. They were the ones who counted the cattle for Don Sebastian. They knew how many they could steal and not be caught. But someone noticed, eh, Montoya? Someone saw the numbers were wrong, so they blamed me. That is why your brave vaqueros volunteered. They had all seen me before. They knew I knew what they were doing. They knew they needed to kill me. That is why they tricked you into getting lost, so you wouldn't witness a murder."

Cimmaron walked to Mano and put his face inches away from the Mexican's ear. Speaking in a whisper that Neetz wouldn't hear, Cimmaron hissed, "That is why I tortured them, Montoya. I wanted them to know they should never, ever, come after me again. I told them that if they did, their Padron would awaken one night and find me in his room. He would hear every word of me story before I left. They knew he would hang them."

The Indian walked stiffly back into the cave, leaving Mano to hobble in by himself. Neetz watched them, sensing a certain tension betwen the two men. She poured some freshly brewed tea in the empty cups on the table before seating herself.

" _Gracis_ , Senora."  
" _Di nada_."

The three people sipped their tea silently .

Cimmaron was the first to speak.

"After I ...spoke... to your five friends, I found you in the pond. I saw that magnificent horse and I thought of what the Old Apache had told me; that I would know when I was ready to find Mum. The time had come. The horse told me so, he was the sign I had waited for. I took him because he was now needed. I did not want you to die, Montoya, I remembered your kindness with the big lass at the dance. You were not like the others. That is why you were shown the way back to the Casa.

That horse, aye, I can tell you now, was the smartest, fastest, most able animal I will ever know. I could not have done without him. He could move in the night like a whisper. That's what I named him, _Susurro._ With him I was able to crawl up on Apache camps without anyone knowing. Apache are easy to find when they don't know they're being followed. Still, it is big country. It took many weeks to find the ones who had me Mum.

For a month I watched them, their routines, their habits, their weaknesses. After a while, I began to visit Mum at night. Those animals kept her in a cage, but she had Lark and she had more courage than any person in that camp. She had her faith, they could not take that from her."

"Ah, Senora. It must have been like a dream, no?, when your son appeared ?"

' I could feel his spirit for days before he came to see me. I knew he was near. It mattered more to me that he could see Lark than to see me.." She smiled. "Lark was so excited to see Joachim that I was afraid he would tell someone at the camp. I had to pinch him hard at times to keep his happiness down, before someone noticed."

Both Cimmaron and Neetz laughed at the memory of the little boy's ways.

" I rode to Tucson and took six bottles of whiskey from the back of the saloon. The day before I freed me Mum and me brother, I set the bottles where I knew they would be found. I had seen the comancheros do that when they wanted to move cattle across Apache ground. The Indians knew to stay at camp that night and to let the vacas pass . The two sides were not friends, but they shared the same enemies. It was an arrangement. Nobody gets hurt.

I sat in the chaparral above their camp and watched them get drunk. Three bottles would have been enough, but I wanted them to drink their fill. It would be their last. Even the squaws got drunk, squaws with infants.. Very few made it back to their beds. I thought of the words of the Old Apache and I understood his wisdom.

Once the fires began to die down and the last of them had passed out, I simply walked into the camp and cut the throats of every male. I thought of me father each time. It was easy. I had never killed a man before, but to me, these were not men. They were animals. I had more respect for the turkey than I had for those Apaches. '

Neetz placed her hand over the top of Cimmaron's and gave a gentle squeeze. Cimmaron continued to tell his story.

"When I had finished, I noticed one small hut with a light inside. When I pulled back the cover, I saw a man seated in front of a candle. It was the sage, the see'er, the ...the medicine man, of the camp. He put his knife on the ground and asked me to sit. I knew him. I had observed him while I watched the camp. He was the only one who ever treated Mum with respect. He said he had been expecting me, knowing one day I would arrive. When he saw the men bring six bottles into camp, he knew it was me. The comancheros never leave more than two. He said he needed to see me before I killed him, to ask forgiveness for the actions of his people. He leaned forward and presented his neck to me. I didn't want to kill _him,_ and me thinks he sensed that. He grabbed his own knife and plunged it into his heart. Before he died, I told him he was forgiven and...he smiled, and then stopped being. His knife is the only thing I took from that place except for Lark and Mum. I used the man's knife to free them."

Mano was about to speak when he bumped his ankle against a table leg. He winced as a short, pain- filled groan escaped his lips.

"It is time to set the leg.' Neetz spoke as she rose from the table. "The medicine should be cool enough to drink now. Cimmaron, take two large glasses from the hutch."

As soon as the glasses were set on the table, Neetz filled them with the black liquid she had been preparing. Mano could smell the distasteful aroma and made a face, the face a boy makes when told to eat something he doesn't want to eat. It made Neetz smile.

" What is in this most delightful drink, Senora Fitzgerald?" Mano asked, deadpan.

'Oh, mescal, cactus and aloe juice, herbs, peyote."

 _"Ay..._ well that explains a few things." Mano grimaced.

Taking a deep breath, the Mexican drained the first glass. Before drinking the second, he raised it up and looked to the heavens .

"Well, Mama, here's hoping you still have your beautiful elephant."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

It only took a few moments for Mano to regain his bearings once his eyes opened. The earthen smell and the lingering scents of his current surroundings were familiar. As he sat up he could see sunlight beyond the cave's mouth. He pulled back the blanket and hitched the hem of his gingham dress until he could see his right foot. It had been wrapped in numerous layers of stiff agave leaves with several willow stalks sticking out the top. Mano could tell these wooden splints locked his leg bone in place. Numerous thin leather strips secured the splints and leaves in place. He could feel heat from his new boot. Neetz must have boiled the fiberous leaves to make them compliant. Once they cooled and hardened, his leg would be molded in place. It seemed solid.

He found out quickly that he could put no pressure on the cast. When he tried, the pain was immediate and sharp. He took a deep breath, and, holding up his skirt, hopped to the opening of the cave.

Down below him he saw Neetz. The manufactured clothes she wore the previous day had been traded for something more traditional . She wore tall moccasins and a leather skirt, with a lighter colored tunic. She was bending over tending plants, with the small burro, whom the Kiliwa had referred to as "WeeLassie", following her every move. The animal had probably been lost or abandoned by the silver prospectors years before and had found a good life with the family Fitzgerald. Neetz kept brushing aside the little burro's head but it insisted on sticking its nose in her work. He could hear her laughter as she gently admonished the animal. Clearly, it held a strong emotional bond with the Kiliwa woman.

Mano hopped back into the cave a few steps and seated himself in Neetz's rocking chair, a beautiful piece of furniture undoubtedly rescued by Cimmaron from the desert.

Mano smiled. He felt good. He realized he would have never gotten out of his predicament without Cimmaron's intervention. Even if he had, the severity of his broken leg would have left him incapable of little more than crawling. The pain, now more of a constant throb, would have been debilitating. In a few days, he thought, he would feel well enough to head back to the Chaparral, if Cimmaron could provide him a horse.

On the side table next to the chair sat the book Neetz had been reading the previous morning. Mano reached over and took it from the table.. The dark blue leather binding was embossed with gilted gold and red banding. A raised cross confirmed what Mano already knew. It was a bible, a very nice bible, an expensive bible. He casually opened the cover and read the inscription:

 _To my beloved Mother,_

 _To know you is to know laughter_

 _To know you is to know joy_

 _To know you is to know love_

 _To know you is to know the touch of the hand of God_

 _Your loving son, Manolo_

Mano's body jolted as he stared at the words, stunned.

He closed the book and focused on the cover before returning to the inscription. He sat there, frozen, his face a complete blank.

 _"How could you forget this book, Mano?!. How in the name of all that is Holy could you not know this book, Manolo? How is it possible that you would not remember this gift?"_

It had been the most important thing in his thirteen year old world. He had seen in at the bookstore in Nogales when he had gone there with his father. To be able to give this to his mother as an Easter gift was his first thought, but at almost twelve dollars , there was no way he could afford to buy it. Don Sebastian refused to give him the money to make a purchase and laughed at the boy's insistence that he would find a way to get the money.

Don Sebastian eased his comments and made a deal with young Manolo. He would pay the costs of the book if Mano agreed to work like a ranch hand for a month. If Mano quit, if Mano's work was shoddy or unsatifactory, then the Don would pay him nothing. The father considered it to be a fool's bet, but the young man accepted the offer. Daily, he shoveled the fresh manure from the stalls, he dug a ditch one hundred feet long, two feet deep, that he knew would never be used. The older man took an almost sadistic pleasure in finding ever more difficult and demanding tasks for Mano to perform. To the Don's surprise, the son fulfilled each duty he had been given. He paid Mano in full, not a peso more, and Mano ordered the book .That Easter he presented it to his mother. The joy in her eyes, the soft kiss on his forehead, the look of respect from his sister, made it all worthwhile.

Time , however, marched on, as it always does. There was the trip to Europe with his sister, the emergence of his early manhood, the death of his mother. In time the beautiful gift became just another book in a house full of books. It went from a spot of prominence on its own small table to a spot on a library shelf next to other forgotten books.

" I was there the day you gave that Bible to your mother." spoke a voice.

Mano rose quickly on his one good leg.

 _"No! You were not there! I was there! Not you!"_ Mano seethed. "How dare you take this from my home ! What right do you have to take this ... this gift I presented my mother? This is no loaf of bread ,Cimmaron, it is not a piece of meat, it is not some stupid chicken! _You had no right to steal this!_ Not _this_ !"

Cimmaron remained calm, his words steady.

"I did not steal it. I took it. Me Mum needed a bible and no one wanted this one. She deserved a bible as nice as your mother's. I made sure she got one. You risked a few pesos to get this book. I risked my life."

Mano was shaking with anger but knew there was little he could do. It was no different than the day he was caught naked in the pond. He had no options. Mano turned away from Cimmaron and noticed the still hot embers in the firepit. Cimmaron noticed as well.

'You throw that bible in the firepit and I will kill you where you stand, Montoya."

Mano stood there and breathed in deeply. Tucking the bible under his arm, he hopped over to the table and sat down. He set the bible down gently and glared at Cimmaron before letting out a long sigh. He looked to the floor and said nothing.

Cimmaron walked around him to the hutch. "Coffee?"

"Si, gracias." The voice was quiet, resigned.

The Kiliwa placed two cups on the table and grabbed the coffee from the edge of the firepit. He filled both cups before seating himself. The two men sat in silence.

" My anger is not with you, Cimmaron. Forgive me. My anger is with myself , that I could forget I once bought this bible. I held it in my hands and didn't even recognize it..." Mano's words trailed off.

"It matters not, Montoya. It is not a gift from you to her. It is not a gift from me to Mum. It is more than you or me. It is a gift from a son to a mother. That is all"

Mano considered the words.

" Gracias. I like that thought. Very much... you said you were there? Please, tell me of this."

"Do you remember the tall saguaro above the back courtyard, Montoya, the one with three arms?"

" _Si, si,_ I know it well."

The next time you return to the Casa Montoya you must visit it. You will find a small wooden seat behind the clump of large sagebrush at the foot of the cactus. That is where I hid and watched your Easter parties on the back plaza. When I saw what you gave your mother, and saw her joy, I swore to meself that one day Mum would have such a fine bible."

Mano nodded modestly and sipped his coffee.

" I was sorry to learn of your mother's passing, Montoya. She was a woman of much grace."

 _"Gracias, si,_ she was."

"I thought of her after I got Mum back, of how you lost yours a year before I found mine and I knew I could now have the bible. It could still be a gift from a son to a mother. It was very difficult to enter the Casa Montoya. I had not been there for many years and I was a grown man, not a boy. It took a full day to be able to get in. I was afraid Rabbit Ears would hear me, but I was able to finally get into the library. The book was no longer on its own table; it was somewhere on the shelves with all the other books. I looked for it, but the room was so dark I couldn't find it. Then, I heard the door knob turn."

" _Porque, no!"_ exclaimed Mano, his face lighting up." Pepe?"

"No. It was the Don. He came in and lit the lamps as I hid behind the big curtains. He worked on his books for an hour before he left. I hoped he wouldn't need to open the windows, and , fortunately for us both, he didn't. With the light I was able to locate the bible on the shelves. After he was gone, I took the book. I swore I would never again set foot in the Casa Montoya."

The two men shared a chuckle.

"You must know something, Montoya. When Mum was a girl she lived at the Dominican mission. They taught her to read and write _Espanola_. She was converted to the Catholic religion and read the bible every day. When the Kiliwa elders rebeled against the Dominicans, they took all of the children back into the steep mountains with them. The only thing Mum took from the Mission was her bible. She still had that same bible the day we were attacked. Her faith, Montoya, was what kept her alive when she was with the Apaches...let me show you something."

Cimmaron rose and walked to the back of the cave. On a dresser in Neetz's room sat a jewelry box. From it he withdrew what appeared to be a necklace. Returning to the dining area he laid it carefully on the table. Mano just looked at it, saying nothing.

It was a rosary. Fully half of the black beads had been replaced with wooden ones which varied slightly in size. The silver chain which once held the beads had been replaced with a fine thread of sinew. The crucifix was chipped and cracked. The Jesus figure showed the wear of being held countless times.

'This is the only thing me Mum had with her when she was taken to the Apache camp. One of the men took it from her, but the chief made him give it back. He allowed her to keep this one piece of her life. The squaws always tried to take it from her. They would break the chain and scatter the beads and then laugh at her when she tried to find them. Finally, she began to wrap it in a cloth and bury it in the floor of her cage. Every night she would take it out and pray. It saved her life, she said.

After Lark was born and got a little bigger, he kept wanting to dig up her rosary and play with the pretty beads. That's when she began to teach him the rosary. She told him these were their magic beads, that they would one day bring his brother, who would save him. It was their special secret and it mattered to that little boy. He learned the prayers and would say them quietly with Mum each night. He made sure the squaws never found this rosary.

After Lark and Mum came to live here, he still said a rosary with Mum twice a week, till the day he died. I miss hearing that harmony. I would listen to them, their two voices speaking as one. I admired him. He believed in its power because it didn't lie to him. It answered his prayers. "

Mano listened respectfully and thought of the times he had done the exact same thing with _his_ mother.

"You had something in your hand when I saw you on that cliff, Montoya. I could hear your voice but not your words. It was a rosary in your hands, was it not?"

Mano gave him a long look. _"Si_ , it was a rosary."

"It made me think of Lark. That is when I knew to get WeeLassie. That is when I knew to help you. "


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Cimmaron placed a chair near the entrance and gestured for Mano to come and sit. For himself, he grabbed a stool and placed it near the chair, next to a small pile of thick alder limbs. He took one, several inches in diameter, and held it next to Mano to gauge its length. Once the Mexican sat, Cimmaron began to cut and carve the limb. At its top, he whittled a round tenon. Taking another, shorter limb , he placed it under Mano's arm pit and slid the curving stick until a length of it fit comfortably in the joint. Grabbing a larger knife from a group of blades he had in a leather roll, Cimmaron hacked the piece to length. Setting the large tool back in its spot on the roll, he pulled one out which had a blade only a few inches long. He eyeballed the arched, shorter piece he had just produced and held it against the longer limb until it pleased his eye. Making a mark , he turned the piece so that the bottom of the curve faced him. He braced the wood between both knees and began to carve a mortise to hold the tenon of the longer branch. As he was working, he noticed Mano eyeing his tool roll.

"Me Pop was a smithy. There was much I never got to learn from him, but he taught me to make a proper knife and how to keep a keen edge." Cimmaron pulled the knife from his belt and handed it to Mano. It was virtually identical to the one he had given to Buck Cannon. " You can feel the balance, aye, Montoya?"

 _"Si"_ answered Mano as he eyed the razor sharp edge.

"A month after me Pop died, the Old Apache took me back to where we were attacked. Those animals had thrown Pop's tools all over looking for things they wanted. They burned the wagon, but left the tools. I dug through the ashes and the sand and found his files and stones, some hammers and chisels; everything I needed to make good , sharp tools. The Old Apache made sure I left plenty of tracks in case any of the attackers returned. He said they needed to know I was still alive, knowing it would trouble them. He knew the way of the Apache mind."

The two men talked casually in the warm morning sun as the crutches took shape. Down below, Neetz and WeeLassie continued their routine, the little burro constantly shadowing the graceful woman.

"The _burrito,_ she thinks she is a dog," laughed Mano.

"No, Montoya, she thinks she is a person. A person with four legs. She was around when the Old Apache brought me to this place and she was here when Lark and Mum came to live. She is at least thirty years old, but when she is near Mum, she acts like she is three."

Mano exhaled a low whistle. "Thirty years? _Dios mio!_ The cougars have let her live that long?"

Cimmaron snickered. "There is a lion in these rocks with a broken tail. I saw WeeLassie break it. She is no little deer, she fights back. The cats know to leave her alone. That one is very protective of Mum, too. If she sees, or hears, or smells something , she will let Mum know."

" I have been wondering of that, Cimmaron," Mano began. "It is, of course, none of my business, but there are those who would gain great honor to hold your scalp."

Cimarron spit on the ground. " The Old Apache told me that Cochise would show me respect, and that is true. Cochise has never once sent anyone after me. Soldado has never bothered me either, although I believe he knows I am here. He and his men use the lower canyons at times, but I am told he fears me. If he were to catch me in the open, it would be different, he would try. With _Susurro,_ that was never an issue.

But aye, Montoya, there are those who come here and try. Young bucks, boys who are in too big a hurry to prove their manhood. There were many in the early years, not so many now. When they try, I kill them, and send their horses back empty. Their bodies are never found."

"Here, try this." Cimmaron held up the crutch as Mano rose. The fit was good, the handle situated at a comfortable height. "Mum will be up soon. I will have your other crutch finished in a wee bit."

* * *

Neetz insisted that the two men remain seated as she served lunch. The succulent tomato slices spurted juice down Mano's chin as he bit into them, The fresh mild peppers with the smoked meat and small squares of flat bread made for a perfect mid-day meal. Neetz and Cimmaron spoke in the casual way family members often do, seamlessly slipping between Kiliwa and English as they talked. Mano smiled and thought of the many times he and Victoria did the same thing, as the Cannon men stared, not understanding the words.

" I've got to take WeeLassie down to me horse, " Cimmaron told Mano. He'll be needing some water and I've got to look at some other things. I've been seeing a single Apache pony lately. Hope to not see it today."

"Well, Cimmaron" smiled Mano, " It is a fine time to learn to walk with my two new wooden legs." He placed the crutches under his arms and swung himself out to the edge of the cave. He followed Cimmaron for a while as the Kiliwa went down to get WeeLassie and the water for his horse.

The trip back up to the cave tired Mano. Neetz had warned him that his stamina would be tested; she was right. He made it back to the cave's entrance and plopped down on the chair he had occupied all morning. Mano looked at the crutches, which had performed admirably. The alder was springy enough to flex, yet stiff enough to support his weight. They were light, easy to handle, stable. The Indian's level of skill was evident. He was a craftsman. Fitzgerald would be proud of his son, Mano thought.

It was getting too warm to sit in the direct sunlight. The last of the thinning storm clouds were passing as the sun began to dry out the land, so Mano moved his seat back into the shade of the cave's ceiling. Neetz joind him.

She was no longer wearing her leathers, having changed back to her skirt and blouse. In one arm she carried Mano's pants, a sewing box in her other. She placed the box on the little table which held the bible and withdrew a small set of scissors. Once she was comfortable in her rocking chair, she began to cut the stitching on the outer seam of the right leg.

"Tell me about your mother, Mon-toy-ya." she casually requested.

Manolo Montoya rarely thought of his mother much; she had been gone for more than twenty years. Yet, this was the third or fourth time in the last few days that her presence was considered, that her lessons were remembered. Something about Neetz put Mano at ease and the stories began to flow.

The woman laughed often upon hearing the antics of young Manolito, memories which made the storyteller himself laugh.

' To hear your stories is to know _Dona_ Maria." Neetz grinned."My Lark was just like you as a boy. He could never sit still, either. Like the bird. he seemed to always be jumping from one branch to the other. He was such a happy boy. Even the mean squaws liked him. When I would be sent to snare rabbits or catch birds, the older women would take Lark into their tents to protect him from the younger squaws, the jealous ones who had stupid children."

Neetz cut the seam up past the knee and stitched it at that point. Reaching ino her pocket, she pulled out a piece of buckskin which she began to cut into strips. As she worked , she told Mano of her life. The conversation was relaxed, both parties willing to share and to laugh at each other's stories. Mano was captivated by her's.

Her life was not confined by the sheer walls of this oasis, as he had thought. Each fall, she would go with her sons to the mountainous country to harvest bags of pinon nuts and medicinals. They would return by way of the Apache camp where she and Lark were held hostage. There were still two old women there, squaws without men, who had nowhere to go after the camp dispersed. They welcomed Neetz and Lark. The two Kiliwa treated them better than their own people, who had forgotten them. While Cimmaron would go kill several deer for the women , Neetz would talk with them, share the pinon nuts, brush their hair. Their love for Lark brought laughter and toothless smiles. He was more of a grandson to them than their own flesh and blood, children who had left the camp before Cimmaron came to rescue Neetz.

Twice a year, at Christmas and Easter, Cimmaron would take Neetz to Casa Cueva, where she would spend a week praying with the women of the village, and celebrating Mass.

Mano sat up when he heard the words 'Casa Cueva'.

" Do you know a man there," he eagerly asked, "named Vaquero? He is the _alcalde."_

"Aye. I have broken bread with him many times."

"He is _mi amigo_." Mano told her. "A good friend...Does he know...does he know who you are?"

"He has never asked, no one does, but in his eyes I can see, aye,... I can see he does. He knows. He also knows it was a long time ago and some things are best left unsaid. Cimmaron and Lark stayed back in the hills so that the Apache would never see them with the Mexicans. Vaquero saw their respect for his people."

Neetz stitched three of the leather strips down one side of the flap she had made. She sewed three others on the opposite side and held the pants up for Mano to see.

" Go and put these on, Mon-toy-ya. Your leg can now fit."

Mano rose and took several steps. 'Would you be so kind?" he asked with a coquetttish smile, pointing to the buttons on the back of the gingham dress.

"Well of course, _senorita."_ tittered Neetz.

When she had undone the buttons, Mano turned and gave her a rather unbalanced curtsy.

Mano was glad to shed the green dress and put on his real clothes which Neetz had laundered at some point. The pants went on easily as Mano tied the buckskin straps loosely around the splinted leg. The familiar grip of his left boot made him feel more like himself. He rose and hobbled to the wall where his shirt and jacket hung, choosing to don the shirt and his bandana only.

The sun was setting as Neetz began to prepare dinner. A few minutes later they heard Cimmaron's voice. He entered and began speaking to Neetz in Kiliwa, his tone serious. Her reaction was to shake her head sadly before she returned her focus to the meal.

'Is everything all right, Cimmaron?" Mano asked.

Cimmaron shook his head. " The pony was there again and I found who it belonged to. A young Apache. He's trying to find a way to get up here." He pointed toward the far end of the small valley. 'There are many , many canyons on that end of these rocks. Only one can lead a person here. This lad is brighter than most. He has found the right canyon and he''ll not be stopping until he finds this place. I'll not be havin' it."

Cimmaron placed a leather pack near the exit. Mano could see several throwing knives looped onto its exterior. A bow with a quiver of arrows joined the pack.

As he grabbed a few more items, Neetz rolled some of the meat she had been cooking into the flat bread and wrapped them with a cloth. She placed the food in the top of Cimmaron's pack. Her movement was practiced, Mano noted. They had done this before.

Cimmaron threw the pack and quiver over his shoulder as he grabbed the bow. Neetz gave him a kiss on the cheek,

"I'll be back after noon" spoke the son.

With that, Cimmaron took several steps and disappeared into the night.

.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

WeeLassie brayed lightly when she saw Mano making his way to the valley floor. Neetz turned and looked up at him . She smiled as Mano waved to her.

Staying in the cave was making him antsy, he needed to get out and do something. He needed to get more comfortable with the alder crutches. The path from the cave to the valley floor looked to be a good challenge. Not overly steep, it was less concerning than Mano expected. He made it down in just a few minutes.

To his right, Mano could see the upper end of the valley, a perspective shielded from the cave where he had been staying. There was a cavern, no more than ten or twelve feet high, at the head of the draw. Mano entered it and noticed the dampness of the air. There was a deep pool at the rear, a small trickle from the wall behind keeping it full. Along one wall were shelves holding dozens of various sized canning jars, their tops sealed with wax. Meats, vegetables, fruits and jams filled the jars.

Along another wall sat tools; shovels, picks, axes, hammers, wood saws; the items one could find on virtually any wagon traversing the land of the Apache. For every need Neetz or Cimmaron had, there was a tool for the task. Mano smiled in appreciation. Even the Chapparal ws not this well equipped.

Mano returned to the mouth of the cave as Neetz approached. She held several ripe apricots in her hand, one of which she offered to the hobbled Mexican. It was juicy, and flavorful.

'Umm " Mano sighed as he took his first bite. 'This tastes as good as the ones from Casa Montoya."

"It should." answered Neetz, wryly. The look made Mano tilt his head back and laugh.

" You want for nothing here, Senora Fitzgerald. I have wondered why you didn't leave this country after you were freed, but now I see. You have carved out a life here, just as the Cannons and the Montoyas have.'

"Aye" agreed Neetz "The years with the Apache were... diffcult..., but I grew to love this country, and Cimmaron did, too. When he brought Lark and me to this place I knew it was home. There was no other place I wished to go. There is a price to pay to live in this land. Me son is paying the cost as we speak, but it is a price decided by others, a price Cimmaron is willing to pay."

'You do not seem worried, Senora. You seem at peace knowing Cimmaron might not return."

" I do not worry. My faith gives me that gift, but, aye, I would like to see the killing stop. Perhaps one day one of those boys will get the better of me son. I choose to not live for that day. I choose to live for this one. Come, my friend. Let me show you me garden."

The two walked the perimeter of the valley for several hours, the man on crutches moving with ease. At all times Neetz was attentive, constantly looking to the rocks above. It was an acquired habit, one borne by all who lived in this uncompromising land. Mano noticed he was doing the same thing.

After circling the valley, the two stood just inside the mouth of the cavern, saying little. WeeLassie let out a small bark and Mano saw Neetz stiffen. She took several steps toward the burro as Mano followed her. Suddenly , the animal let out a loud, alarmed bray.

"Montoya!" exclaimed Neetz, looking above him.

Mano turned and looked up, only to see the bottoms of two moccasins falling from the sky. A rifle butt smacked him in the head and he fell to the ground.

His eyes fluttered as his mind tried to register what had just happened. Mano's head was throbbing and Neetz was on her knees, bending over him. An Apache stood behind her, holding a rifle pointed at the two people on the ground.

"'Get up!" ordered the Indian.

Neetz ignored him, looking at Mano and examining the cut caused by the rifle butt. She removed the bandana from the fallen man's neck and dabbed at the blood running down Mano's forehead.

"Get up!" repeated the Indian.

Neetz helped Mano to his feet, handing him one crutch as she rose. Immediately the Indian knocked the crutch away with the barrel of his rifle. Neetz grabbed Mano to help him keep his balance.

"You, move over there" the Indian barked at Neets, gesturing with the firearm. Neetz did not comply.

He was young, painfully young, thought Mano. Thirteen, maybe fourteen years old, his baby face still smooth and unmarked. He acted confident, but there was an undeniable skittishness in his movements and his tone.

"I told you to move, woman ! " he hissed.

Again, Neetz didn't budge. Calmly she looked at the man- child and asked him, "Does your mother know you are here?"

The question caught the young Apache off guard. This was not a question he had even remotely considered. He wavered, and then regained his bearings.

"Do not speak to me of her, woman. I am a man, not a boy. I do not need the permission of some squaw to be here." he answered, trying to convince himself as much as Neetz. "Now , move!"

Even though there seemed to be more conviction in his words, Neetz remained standing , supporting Mano.

" You go home." Neetz admonished. "You put that gun down and you go home and become a man. You grow and take a wife. Have children and live to become an old man. You do this now."

The young Apache flinched, clearly understanding the words but unable to comprehend why he was hearing them. The look on his face was easy for Mano to read. _"I am a man! I have a gun! You are supposed to do what I tell you ! You are supposed to fear me !"_

The young man took a step toward Neetz, placing the muzzle of the rifle against her neck.

"Move!' he shouted.

A high pitched sound came from WeeLassie who was standing ten feet away. It was a sound Mano had never heard an animal make. It was a distressed tone, plaintive and yearning.

Neetz brushed the rifle barrel away from her body. "You must go" she said to the Apache . "You must go now, before Cimmaron returns."

The name struck a nerve, making the man-child even less sure of himself. Again he ordered Neetz to move, his voice louder and higher than before. The pitch of WeeLassie's lament rose in volume as well. It was making the hair stand up on the back of Mano's neck.

'Tell that foolish animal to shut up " he ordered, "or I will kill it."

He began to swing the rifle in the direction of the burro before realizing Mano would be able to grab the gun. He pointed the muzzle at Mano with as much menace as he could muster and looked back to Neetz. He pushed the side of her head with the barrel and the pitch of the burro rose another level. The tension in the air was palpable.

The Indian had reached his limit. He grabbed Neetz's long hair and threw her at Mano's feet. It was the last mistake he would ever make.

Before Neetz hit the ground, WeeLassie charged. With full force, she planted her long face directly in the center of the Apache's back. As he shot forward, Mano grabbed the rifle, one hand on the barrel, the other on the stock. He spun on his one good leg forcing his back into the chest of the smaller man. With one push. Mano freed the rifle.

He turned to face the Apache but there was no support from the broken leg. He collapsed on top of Neetz as the Indian fell on top of him.

WeeLassie reared up on her hind legs and drove her front hooves into the bottom of the young man's ribs. He let out a scream and tried to regain his footing. Again, the burro's sharp hooves drove him to the ground. He got up on his hands and knees and tried to scramble away from the animal. WeeLassie bit hard on the back of his neck. The Apache got to his feet, but his head was held down in the vice-like grip of the burro's jaws. His arms flailed uselessly as he twisted to escape animal's bite. Whe he finally freed himself streams of blood poured from the wounds.

The Indian was now facing WeeLassie. She charged and slammed her face into his chest, sending him flying. He landed on his back but could only use his arms to shield himself from the onslaught of her hooves. His right forearm was broken in two almost immediately. He screamed when he saw his hand flopping helplessly, the hand connected to his elbow only by muscle and skin.

WeeLassie's hooves cotinued to slam the young man's body until she bent down and grabbed him by the throat. The strong little burro shook him like a rag doll. Once, twice, a third time, she violently swung him until his body went limp. WeeLassie carried the dead boy out about twenty feet before giving him one last, vicious shake. She released the body and it plopped to the ground, inert.

The small burro turned and faced Neetz, her ears down, her head and neck lowered. The animal showed its teeth as it walked toward the woman, its posture seeming to be one of apology, Mano thought.

" Do not move, Montoya, " Neetz whispered. "She does not yet know to trust you."

The burro approached Neetz until it stopped a few feet away. As Neetz stood motionless the animal began sniffing her, beginning at her feet and rising to her breasts. The animal walked completely around the woman checking every bit of her body. When WeeLassie reached the front of Neetz , she stopped and placed her head and face against Neetz's midsection. Neetz reached her arms over the animal's head and neck to keep her balance. The burro began to bray, a mournful cry.

"There, there," comforted Neetz as the animal continued. "Do not cry little one. All is well. I am well. You are well."

The braying continued.

" It is time to go play. WeeLassie"

Immediately. the braying stopped. One ear rose and turned toward the source of the word.

"You go play." repeated Neetz.

The animal's other ear rose, turned, and focused. Neetz slapped the burro on the rump, but it didn't move. With greater force she slapped its rump again. "Go play, little one!"

WeeLassie kicked her rear legs before jumping up with her fronts. She repeated the jump several times before walking back out in the field. She went to the lifeless form and sniffed it. She prodded it several times with her nose before going off a few feet further. She lowered her head and began eating, without a care in the world.

Neetz retrieved Mano's crutches as each person assured the other that they were fine. Neetz turned and walked out to the dead boy in the grass. Mano followed her slowly, the crutches often sinking in the still wet ground. By the time he reached Neetz, she was already kneeling in prayer. They heard a bleat from WeeLassie and turned to see Cimmaron running down the trail to the valley.

Neetz arose as Cimmaron approached, giving him a tight hug as he arrived. The three people gazed at the Apache.

'They get younger every year." Neetz said quietly.

' Aye, Mum. Such a hurry to grow up and they ne'er do."

Cimmaron studied the corpse. "WeeLassie?" he asked. Neetz nodded .

Cimmaron gave Mano a look which asked, "Do you see what I was telling you of WeeLassie?"

Mano's eyes said "Yes."

" Come," Neetz said to the two men. "Let us rest our spirits for a bit. I will make something to eat before we begin our work. Come, let us return to the casa. I can attend to your wound much better there , Montoya."

The three returned to the cave, Mano struggling ever so slightly with the incline. The young Apache had taken an odd route to the valley, Cimmaron told them, which was how he was able to get past him. Cimmaron thought the young man was bright. Mano could see that the Kiliwa took no real joy in the death of the young Apache.

Although no one had a real appetite, they all ate a bit of the food Neetz had prepared. Mano offered to help Cimmaron with the boy's body but the Indian politely declined the offer. It was his task, and his task alone.

From the cave, Mano watched as Cimmaron dealt with the dead Apache. He placed the wooden pack on WeeLassie and then removed the clothes from the corpse, rolling them into a tight bundle which he secured with the boy's headband. After tying the Apache's legs and arms together, he swung the lifeless form onto the pack. He balanced the load on the small burro, then he cinched it down tightly. Cimmaron retrieved the dead Apache's rifle and a shovel, which he tied to the pack. At length, the man and burro headed toward the far end of the valley where they disappeared into a seam in the rocks. Half of an hour later, Mano saw them on a ridge a mile away before they descended from sight.

Mano remained seated until the skies darkened. Neetz offered to make something to eat but neither had much interest. Neetz joined Mano, seating herself in the rocking chair.

"Cimmaron will find a spot and bury that young man. " she offered. "Then he will take his things down to the boy's pony below. He will tie the clothes and the rifle on the animal and send it on its way. When it shows up at camp the men will see the riderless horse and they will see the rifle. They will understand that the rifle was sent by a man who does not fear their guns. They will understand that it is Cimmaron who has returned their horse, to show them that he has no need for their possessions.

The boy's mother will see the riderless horse and she will not understand. She will not understand why she does not get to see her boy take a wife, and to bring her grandchildren. She will not understand why he needed to do such a foolish thing. She will not understand this need of men to kill each other."  
Mano sat silently and listened. He could see the tears well in Neetz's eyes. He could sense the memory of Lark.

Mano rose and took his crutches. He hobbled back to Neetz's room and took the rosary from her jewelry box. As he returned to his seat, he removed the beautiful amber rosary from the inside of his jacket.

Going over to Neetz, Mano guided Cimmaron's stool to her side, using his crutch. Awkwardly, he lowered himself down until his left knee touched the floor. He handed Neetz her rosary without making eye contact.

Mano made the sign of the cross.

With his left hand he gently grasped the Crucifix. He gazed out to the desert sky and spoke..

" _Creo en Dios Padre, Todopoderoso'"_

" _Creador del cielo y de la tierra"_ joined Neetz's voice.

" _Y en Jesucristo, su unico Hijo, Nuestro Senor..."_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

Although Cimmaron hadn't returned by the time Mano and Neetz retired, he was there when Mano awoke. Cimmaron eyed him before going to the hutch and grabbing two mugs. By the time Mano had stretched and walked to the table, Neetz was already pouring his drink.

"Gracias."

"Mum thinks you are ready to return, Montoya. I will go fix WeeLassie's pack so she can carry you. You can't be riding her bareback. Your leg would bump into the rocks."

'WeeLassie? " chortled Mano. "With all due respect, Cimmaron, she is very small, even for a burro and I am no boy."

Cimmaron pointed to the large china hutch behind Mano. "If she can carry that up here from the bottom, she can carry you down from the top. She is as sure footed as the desert sheep who live in these rocks. "

"Aye, it is true. " chimed in Neetz. "You would have a hard time of it on your crutches, Montoya. It is very steep in places. " She examined the bandaged wound on Mano's forehead as she spoke. "You will need to wear the splint for at least two months. If you choose to have a white eyes look at your leg , it is up to you, Montoya."

"No, Senora Fitzgerald. I have no need for anyone to try to improve what you have done. I give you my word. Two months."

'Two months and a half' "

Mano leaned back and laughed. "Two months and a week."

"Two months and a week." smiled Neetz, nodding her head.

Their appetites back, the three ate a large breakfast as plans were made for the return of Manolo Montoya. Cimmaron would need to modify the frame pack for WeeLassie so she could carry the man. Neetz would pack some supplies and food for the men. If they could get down to Cimmaron's horse by dark, the men could leave for the Chaparral before daylight.

Mano joined Cimmaron at the cavern an hour after they had eaten. The pack was already on the burro as Cimmaron eyeballed and cut pieces of wood for Mano's "saddle". It ended up looking more like a perch. It would seat a man rather high in the air, offering protection for the broken leg, but the ride would be precarious. With Cimmaron's help, Mano climbed aboard WeeLassie. There was nothing about it he liked. From the rider's perspective the animal below looked no bigger than a dog. Compared to a horse, the burro seemed ridiculously short. The "saddle" was comfortable enough, Cimmaron had done a fine job in that respect, but Mano couldn't shake the feeling that he and WeeLassie might tip over at some point.

Cimmaron sensed Mano's reservations and seemed to find it most amusing. Unlike the Mexican, the Kiliwa had no question as to WeeLassie's abilities.

The maiden voyage, from the cavern to the cave , was something Neetz would remember for a long time. With her son leading the burro, the man aboard pitched left and right, backward and forward, shouting various insults and expletives in Spanish, holding onto the wooden frame for dear life.. Cimmaron tried to look away to keep from laughing out loud,with limited success. Both men were grinning like boys by the time they reached the cave.

Neetz's good bye to Mano was short and sweet. A long hug and a heartfelt, " _Vios con Dios._ It has been an honor to have a gentleman in our home."

" _Vios con Dios,_ Senora Fitzgerald. Two months and a week. You have my word." promised Mano. _'Gracias."_

Mano assumed his perch atop the burro as Neetz placed several leather bags on the pack. She gave Cimmaron a kiss on the cheek and the two men began their journey from the oasis.

The trip terrified Mano. At times the drop over the smooth rock faces seemed impossibly steep, a slip from WeeLassie would result in serious injury, possibly death. Other times the threesome moved along skinny rock trails with sheer drops on either side. Often Mano wanted to close his eyes. but dared not to for fear of being tossed from his perch. It was a white knuckle ride from the cave until the moment the two men and the burro reached the desert floor. Mano had never been so happy to stand on terra firma, even if it was only with one good leg.

After unloading WeeLassie's pack, Cimmaron took an large woven basket and walked out of sight around a large rock in the deep winding cleft where they stood. Several moments later he returned with a similar basket filled with horse manure. He tied the load on WeeLassie's pack and, with a spank, sent her on her way home.

"Pick a spot and set your bedroll, Montoya. There is something you will want to see. "

Mano unrolled the blanket set Neetz had prepared for him before grabbing his crutches and following Cimmaron into the deeper recess of the sheer walled, narrow draw. Fifty feet past the large rock, the walls narrowed so much that Cimmaron had been able to place timbers overhead, providing a covered area. There was a wooden fence with a gate and a water trough at the front. Behind the fence in a stall some thirty feet deep stood one of the most beautiful horses Manolo Montoya had ever seen.

He was buckskin toned with a sandy tail and mane. He wasn't built like any of the animals from the Chaparral. He was taller, leaner, with a deep chest. His haunches seemed oversized, muscular, as though he was wearing a suit one size too small. This made his legs look spindly in comparison. Mano ran his learned hands over the animal's legs. They were well muscled and the joints were tight.

This was a special type of horse. His lanky build would preclude him from working cattle, he wouldn't be able to cut. The top heavy appearance would make him a poor choice for carrying heavy loads or being ridden double. An animal such as this required an extremely capable horseman. Those long legs could snap easily in the hands of a careless rider, the knees could give out early in life if one pressed the horse too hard, too often.

This animal was bred, with great care, for two related purposes; speed and endurance. Mano whistled softly several times. His eyes relayed his appreciation for the animal to Cimmaron. It had a certain quality Mano couldn't deny. It was built a lot like a horse both men knew. One man called the animal _Gaucho_. The other knew him as _Susurro._

'Let me guess," Mano said as he examined the horse's teeth. " Sonora? Maybe fifty miles south of Rancho Montoya?"

"About fifty miles would be correct, Montoya."

" _Gaucho_ came from that Rancho. My father bought a horse from them but tricked one of the wranglers into giving him _Gaucho_ instead of the lesser horse he had bought. _Aye yi yi_ the breeder wanted my father's head. He never, ever, sold a single horse to Don Sebastian again. I suppose it was only fair that my father never got to breed _Gaucho."_

'This one does not have the speed of _Susurro_ but he is very fast. He can do something which _Susurro_ could never do. He can become a rock in the daylight. He blends in well. I call him _Arena."_

Mano nodded in agreement with the name. He liked the horse, very much. Ever since he and Buck had acquired the C bar M his eyes had scouted every horse he saw. _Arena_ wouldn't be Buck's cup of tea, but Mano had clear sights on breeding at least a few horses like this one.

" Buck Cannon and I have a small ranch in the hills. One day we will breed such a horse. " Mano told Cimmaron. " We have several good mares but nothing like _Arena_ to breed them to. It is a shame that this one has been gelded."

"No, Montoya. _Arena_ would have been a poor choice. He is only seven years but he is slowly going blind. This is nothing you would ever wish for your worst enemy to go through. "

'I am so sorry to hear this, Cimmaron." Mano meant every word.

'This ranch, Montoya, where would it be?" the Kiliwa asked.

'Do you know of the Peterson ranch about forty miles above the Chaparral ?"

" Aye. I know Peterson. We gather pinon nuts in that area every fall. Sometimes we snare a turkey or two. I give one to Peterson."

"That is it!" smiled Mano. "That is our place now."

" Good thing to know, Montoya. I will check out your stock. If I see one I like I will take him once _Arena_ can no longer see."

' _Ay_ Monolo Montoya," lamented Mano with a grin. "Will you never learn to keep your mouth shut?"

Mano noticed Cimmaron didn't laugh with him. The Mexican realized the Kiliwa was telling him the truth. There would come a day when Cimmaron would need a new horse and the man had just made it clear where the horse might come from. It made Mano uncomfortable. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that if Cimmaron saw a horse he liked at the C bar M, he would take it and he, Manolo Montoya, wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. Mano sighed. Buck Cannon did not need to know this piece of information.

As darkness fell, Cimmaron lit a small fire and heated some of the food Neetz had prepared. Mano commented on the two medium sized leather pouches she had given them before they left, in one of which the food had been taken. Cimmaron shook his head and chuckled. "If Mum knows I will be gone for a day, she packs enough food for a week. If I am to be gone a week, I must remind her I have but one horse."

After the two men had eaten, they spoke for a while before crawling into their bedrolls. Mano stared into the sky, the thought of losing a well bred horse foremost in his mind.

"A pheasant" he said.

"What?" answered Cimmaron.

" The pheasant is a most beautiful bird, wouldn't you agree, Cimmaron"

" Aye, Montoya. A most beautiful bird indeed. Why?"

Perhaps, Cimmaron, one day when I find a most beautiful and capable horse missing from my ranch, I will find a hand carved pheasant in its place."

There was a pause.

"Perhaps, Montoya, perhaps."

T


	10. Chapter 10

"Chapter Ten

The two men moved silently in the pre-dawn darkness, the glow of the rekindled fire being their only source of light. The steep rock walls reflected that light as they tied up their bedrolls. The leftover coffee from the previous night was reheated and the horse was brought out from the corral in the back.

Cimmaron spoke softly as he saddled _Arena_. As Mano leaned forward on his crutches , he watched the Indian secure the two leather pouches Neetz had prepared, before going over to a rock near the wall's edge. Cimmaron pulled aside a brush from behind the rock and bent down to grab something. It was Mano's holster and pistol. He handed Mano the holster, empty, as he placed the revolver in a leather tote strung over his shoulder. Mano didn't question the man's motives. Cimmaron was taking a risk in returning him, Mano realized. If this was how he wished to handle things, Mano had no choice but to respect the decision.

As Mano buckled the holster, Cimmaron walked over to a thin crack in the rocks, reached in, and withdrew a lever action rifle. He placed the firearm in a scabbard on the saddle before asking Mano for hs crutches. He cinched these down and then gestured for Mano to mount _Arena._ With one swift move, Cimmaron helped lift Mano aboard. He took the reins and began to lead the horse and rider out of the narrow and winding draw. When they reached the opening to the desert, Cimmaron began to jog.

"Cimmaron" Mano whispered. "Will you not ride with me on _Arena?"_

"No. _Arena_ cannot carry two men if we are chased. This is how I always travel with Mum. I am fine."

The man was true to his word, Mano learned. The Chapparral was at least forty miles away, but once Cimmaron settled into a steady jog, Mano realized that the journey was well within the Indian's ability. His gait was smooth and effortless. Mile after mile, Cimmaron maintained the pace, never breathing heavily or seeming to tire.

He clearly knew what he was doing.

Once the sun rose, Cimmaron abandoned the main trail and began leading Mano and _Arena_ closer to the hills, winding around rocks and vegetation whenever possible. He used any bit of cover he could find as the two men proceeded. This added time and required extra effort from the man on foot but Mano understood the tactic. It was one of the learned behaviors which had allowed Cimmaron to survive.

Whenever the two men needed to cross large open spaces, the Indian would slow his gait, or stop completely, to evaluate his surroundings before going forward. In the middle of one of these crossings Cimmaron stopped quickly. He turned and pulled Mano from the saddle. In one motion he withdrew his rifle, grabbed the reins, and pulled _Arena_ to the ground. Quickly he drew the animals legs in tight against its body. It was all done so smoothly that Mano could tell the two of them had done this many times in the past.

Cimmaron gestured for Mano to lie down close behind the horse. As Mano did so, Cimmaron reached into his leather tote and handed Mano his revolver. Slowly, the two men looked over the top of the prone horse. Several hundred yards away two Apache men rode into view, their pace unhurried. Cimmaron lowered his head, as did Mano.

The two listened intently, not moving a muscle. They could hear the hooves of the Apache horses stepping through the sand. At length, Cimmaron carefully raised his head. He nodded to Mano who looked up to see the Apache passing out of sight. The two remained on the ground another full five minutes before slowly rising.

Once Cimmaron seemed satisfied that the threat had passed, he helped Mano aboard and placed the rifle in its scabbard. He did not ask Mano to return the revolver. As the two men resumed their journey Mano thought back to the comment about _Arena's_ ability to become a rock. Cimmaron was right. The coloring of the buckskin blended in with the terrain so well that two sharp-eyed Apache never recognized them from a distance of two hundred yards.

The men travelled another two hours before Cimmaron again slowed his pace. He came to a complete stop and listened, before staring back at the ground they had just covered. In the distance rode a lone horseman, heading their direction. Even from a mile away, Mano knew the identity of the solo rider. He looked , from this range, like a black sack of potatoes with a black cowboy hat, seated on a horse. Mano grinned. No one sat a horse quite like Buck Cannon.

Cimmaron led _Arena_ to the top of a swale several yards away and turned the animal broadside to the oncoming rider The rider slowed, clearly seeing the profiles of the two men and the horse.

Cimmaron helped Mano down. As Mano balanced himself on his one good leg, The Indian untied his crutches. He handed them to Mano and then held out the leather sack Neetz had prepared. Cimmaron looked back to the rider, who was now less than a half mile away, moving in a cautious zig zag pattern. Cimmaron mounted _Arena_ and began to ride away.

"Cimmaron," Mano spoke respectfully." I must thank you for your kindness. I must thank you for the generosity you and Senora Fitzgerald showed me. Please know that the location of your home is sacred to me. No one will know of it."

"Aye, Montoya. I have known this from the beginning. You have honor, as does the one who rides this way. You are welcome , Montoya."

' _Con su permiso,_ Cimmaron, " Mano asked. "May I be allowed to tell Ruiz the story of the missing vacas? He should know this."

Cimmaron paused . " I would like that. Aye, I would like that very much."

Mano held out his hand and Cimmaron responded in kind. Rather than shake his hand, Mano took it, and turned it palm up. Reaching inside his jacket he withdrew the amber rosary. The stones glowed in the sunlight as he folded the chain in Cimmaron's hand.

'You will see to it that Senora Fitzgerald gets this, _si?_ It is a gift from a son to a mother."

Cimmaron gazed at the bright beads quietly before gently placing them in his shirt pocket. "This will mean a great deal to Mum, Montoya. She will be honored and humbled to receive it. She thinks highly of you."

Cimmaron reached forward and untied the leather pouch on his saddle. He withdrew a knife in a leather sheath and handed it to Mano. On the face of the sheath, in silver thread, was a beautifully stitched cross. Underneath, in red, were the letters M M. The knife bore a smooth mesquite handle with a silver band at the butt. The band held a polished piece of obsidian. Mano withdrew the blade, the sharp edge shimmering in the sunlight. He could think of nothing to say.

He swung away from the horse and held back his head, the face showing no sign of its usual playfulness. "Good bye, Cimmaron" he said, as he shook the man's hand.

" _Amigo!"_ corrected Cimmaron.

 _" Si !"_ laughed Mano. _"Adios amigo. Via con Dios !"_

Cimmaron smiled, the same sad smile Mano had seen those many years earlier. " _Adios,_ Montoya."

Cimmaron gave _Arena_ a nudge and the horse and rider began to walk away slowly, before picking up the pace. Mano watched them for a minute before pushing himself back to the top of the swale.

Buck was less than one hundred yards away, and when he saw the solitary figure on the skyline, he steered Rebel directly toward Mano.

'Such a beautiful day to be out here, eh, compadre?" boomed Mano as Buck drew near. Mano lightly pounded his chest with his fists as he took a deep, somewhat exaggerated breath of air. " A beautiful day for a walk, wouldn't you agree, Buck?"

Buck wasn't buying a bit of what Mano was trying to sell .He pushed back the brim of his hat and rested his forearms on the pommel. He stared at the horse and rider who were quickly disappearing from sight. ' That who I think it was?" he asked.

Mano turned and looked the same direction.

" Oh, that was a _caballero_ ,' grinned Mano, " a gentleman, Senor Fitzgerald. He stopped to ask of my welfare. I assured him that the Chaparral was near and that I had no need of his assistance. And you, Buck? Where are you coming from on such a fine day?"

"Two-back" drawled Buck, still staring out to the rider. "We went into Tuscon the night Mackadoo come back alone. Wasn't nobody seen hide nor hair of you. Couldn't track your horse in the rain, weren't no tracks to follow. Next day we find yer hat on the front porch. Got a letter in it. Good thing Victoria was there 'cuz she was the only one who could read it. She said it was writ by a woman, a woman who learned to write proper, like in a school. Didn't sign her name. Just said you done broke yer leg and you'd be back soon.

Well, Mano, wasn't a one of us who could figure it out but I thought of the nuns at Casa Cueva. I jist took a ride down there, but nobody there seen ya neither. I got to talkin' to Vaquero..."

"Vaquero!" interrupted Mano. "How is my _amigo?_ He is well, I trust?"

Buck looked at Mano for a few seconds before resuming his story. "I asked Vaquero if he knowed a woman who could write proper _Espanol_ and who might be holding you. He said "no' but I could tell he knew more than he was lettin' on. When I left Casa Cuevo I remembered that necklace you liked so much in Tubac, so I headed that direction. You wanna know what I learned ?"

" Ah, unfortunately I know the answer to this , Buck." Mano responded, sadly. "The rosary is no longer there. Alas it had been purchased."

"Yeah. The storekeep said a well dressed vaquero came in and bought it. Said the man like to laugh and tell jokes. Remind you of anyone you know, Manolito?"

" _Si,_ it reminds me of many men I know. This fellow, I must admit, he sounds most enchanting."

"Yeah... enchantin'... Jist the word I was thinkin' of. Well, I just headed home to the Chaparral and what do you think I find but little ol' Manolito Montoya hisself, taking a walk. In the desert. On crutches. With a bandage on his head."

' Oh, it is little more than a scratch, Buck and a ... _si ._.. a broken leg... But that is not what is important! What is important is that I am well and will soon be home. Where I have been for these last few days is of little importance, wouldn't you agree, Buck?"

Buck didn't respond. He looked at Mano until his gaze fell upon the knife. "Quite a knife you got there, Mano... A smart man once told me that there were only two ways for men like us to have a knife like that, and..." Buck looked around, "I don't see no dead, red headed Indians ."

Mano had nothing to say. Buck owned the same knife. He was fully aware of its origin.

'Well, amigo, " Buck said. "I'll be sure to let Victoria and John know you're comin'. I'm guessing you'll be there by dinner time."

Buck gave Rebel a light kick and the horse began to walk away.

"Amigo!" shouted Mano. "Wait! I have reconsidered! Perhaps I have had enough fresh air and exercise for one day. Yes, yes, I am sure of it, now. Perhaps you could give me a ride to the Chaparral ?"

Buck stopped and looked at Mano. "No need to be bangin' that broke leg against the side of a horse. Go pick yerself a shady spot in them rocks over there and I'll send out the buckboard. I imagine it'll be Victoria and Big John what comes to get ya. She's been worried sick."

" _Si,_ that does sound like my sister. _Muchas gracias,_ Buck." Mano dropped the facade. " It is good to see you again, amigo."

"Good to see you, too, compadre." smiled Buck. He gave Rebel a kick and the horse took off at a quick pace. Within a few hundred feet, Buck kicked again and the two took off at a full gallup.

Ten minutes later Mano situated himself in a nice little nook in the rocks. He kicked out a few smaller rocks with the leg of his crutch and lowered himself down to the sand . After repositioning the pistol he wiggled his rear end into the sand until it conformed to his body. He took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings. A lizard climbed a rock and stared down at the man.

"Ah, little one. You have chosen to join me on this beautiful day. Welcome."

The lizard turned its head four or five times as though it needed to fully analyze what it was seeing.

"Perhaps, little one, you would care to join me for a meal?" Mano offered. "I have a sack of most delicious food prepared by my good friend, Senora Fitzgerald. She is an accomplished cook."

The lizard didn't move, seeming to be interested only in the man's voice.

Mano untied the leather bag, reached in, and withdrew its contents. Mano stopped and looked out to the desert before releasing a loud laugh which sent his new friend scurrying for shelter. He looked back at the object in his hands.

A green gingham dress.

* * *

 **Author's note**

 _First and foremost, thank you for taking the time to read this story. Your input ,through comments and critiques, are appreciated and welcomed_

 _The presence of the Catholic Church is one of the blocks in the foundation of The High Chaparral. While Victoria and Manolo were raised Catholic, that element is rarely brought into the story line of the series. Understandable, to an extent. I thought it would be interesting to visit that part of Mano's life at a time when he had no where else to turn._

 _I was also interested in the Mother/Son dynamic which is also rarely addressed. We do have Blue and Annalee's relationship , which is referenced heavily in the beginning of the series, but it pretty much runs its course after a few episodes.. The Blue/Victoria relationship is a different animal entirely. That leaves the majority of featured relationships as either Fathers/ Sons, Siblings, or Uncles/Nephew. I have followed VStar Traveler's lead in referring to Senora Montoya as "Maria"._


End file.
